


Ignorance and Bliss

by ShinySherlock



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, T.A.H.I.T.I., for reals it has both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinySherlock/pseuds/ShinySherlock
Summary: Phil finally confronts Nick Fury about T.A.H.I.T.I. and gets more than he bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueerSherlockian (Anglophile_Fiend)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Fiend/gifts).



> A long overdue gift for my dear Zaza from the first fandomtrumpshate auction. Set after Coulson learns the truth about T.A.H.I.T.I. on Agents of SHIELD and after the first Avengers movie. From there it does its own thing and is not canon timeline compliant.

It’s hard to leave Lola behind. 

But for this mission, he needs the element of surprise, and the classic car’s bright color and unique enhancements make her utterly noticeable.

Phil’s been an agent a long time, and he’s really good at it--better than most give him credit for. His calm, unassuming persona encourages others to dismiss him, to underestimate him, which he has used to his advantage time and again.

And yet, it all seems to be failing him at the moment.

After months of searching, exhausting every contact, every lead, Phil has finally found him. He’s in the building, alone with Fury, finally able to confront him for scrambling his brains, for torturing him in order to save him, for giving him this half-life.

“Phil, calm down,” Fury says.

Phil can count on one hand the times that’s been said to him. Something is wrong.

“I wanted to die. You should have let me die!” It sounds strange even to his own ears, but right now all he can focus on is the pain, the way he pleaded for the doctors to let him go--and how those pleas were ignored.

“You only think that because you’re remembering everything at once. That woman should have never shown you the truth.” Fury is maddeningly matter-of-fact, and Phil feels his blood pressure rise with each calm and collected phrase that leaves Fury’s mouth.

“Yeah, because lying and keeping secrets is so much better.”

Fury pauses for a moment. “Sometimes lying is a _kindness_.”

“Is that how you justify it?”

“Phil, don’t be naive. How many times have you lied, to stop a panic before it starts, to keep people safe, to control information--and yes, to be kind?”

Phil starts pacing. Shakes his head. “No. This is my life.” Phil points to his chest. “ _My_ life.” He continues pacing and then turns to Fury, thrusting an accusing finger. “I _trusted_ you! You had no right!”

His voice feels loud in the empty room, loud enough to fill the air, reverberating into every dark corner. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes and he can’t stop himself.

“You think you saved me; you think you made the right call,” he begins, moving forward, his anger propelling him towards Fury. “You think you put me back together, but you’re wrong, Nick, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Phil stops one step from him and digs his left index finger into Fury’s chest. “I’m broken, Nick.” His voice cracks over the words, and the tears fall now. “I’m broken.”

The steel returns to his eyes, and the fingers of his right hand clench into a fist. “ _You_ broke me.”

Phil shifts his weight, begins to swing his fist upward in an arc meant to hurt when he feels it, a sharp pain in his flank.

He has time to look back, to see the arrow sticking out of his ass, and then he sees nothing at all.

Fury lets Phil slide down his body until he’s safely on the floor and then takes a step away.

Out of the shadows, Clint Barton comes forward, unhurried, collapsing his bow. He stops a few feet from Phil’s unconscious but very much breathing body.

“So.” Clint looks from Phil to Fury. “Not dead.”

Fury’s expression remains blank. Clint doesn’t blink.

“Fix this,” Fury says, and he walks away, turning his back on them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Awareness returns slowly, and Phil remains still, gathers information.

A gentle roar punctuated with crackling pops.

The potent, smokey scent of seasoned hardwood burning.

But the initial alarm that he’s clearly near fire is mitigated by the softness of the pillow beneath his cheek, the grogginess that still fogs his brain.

He risks lifting his eyelids, letting in thin slits of the view.

Fireplace. Hearth. Coffee table.

His captor has abducted him and placed him on a cozy sofa in front of a warm fire.

Well, that’s odd. But no matter how cozy he feels, how much he’d like to sink against the cushions and go back to sleep, escape is the priority. He listens, hears nothing but the fire and his own breathing. He looks, sees the door unguarded.

In a flash he springs from the sofa, bolting forward, his fingers turning the deadbolt deftly and pulling the door open smoothly, and then he’s running.

 

Clint perches in the loft, shaking his head as he watches Phil struggle to extricate himself from the sofa and lurch towards the door. It takes him a few tries to figure out the lock, and then he finally stumbles out onto the porch. Clint hops down from the railing and goes downstairs unhurriedly. He figures he’s got a couple minutes to pull on his coat and boots before Coulson actually makes it to the treeline.

Clint finds him attempting to cut through the fresh snow in sock feet. He’s made it about fifteen yards, but the cold is starting to register.

“What are you doing?” Clint asks as he reaches Coulson’s side. Coulson spins, startled by Clint’s voice.

“ _Barton?_ ” Coulson’s brows knit in utter confusion, and he looks genuinely betrayed.

“Yeah, me. Come on, you’ll freeze out here.” Clint puts a hand on Coulson’s shoulder to guide him back towards the house.

Coulson’s face goes still and then he swings a fist wildly towards Clint’s face, but misses by a mile.

Clint sighs. “Hey. Hey!” Coulson finally looks at him. “I’ll make you a deal, all right? You come back in the cabin; and then later, after the drugs wear off, you can fight me, okay?”

A moment passes as Coulson considers. “Deal.”

“Okay, good. Let’s go, Slugger. I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”

This time, Coulson allows Clint to put an arm around his shoulders, and they pick their way through the snow, back to the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, but that seems to be how this particular cookie wants to crumble. <3


	3. Chapter 3

The second time Phil wakes, there’s no panic, no urge to flee--just a seething anger that starts quietly but builds.

“What the hell is going on, Barton?”

They’re standing, facing each other in the main room of the cabin, not quite yelling, but getting there. 

“Fury told me to ‘fix you’.”

“I don’t want to be ‘fixed’.”

Clint sighs. “I didn’t say that’s what’s gonna  _ happen-- _ ”

“I want to die.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen either.”

When Phil lunges for him, he’s ready. Clint ducks and Phil’s fist sails past his head, and then Clint surges forward, knocking Phil over onto the floor of the cabin. He gets a sharp knee to the ribs and a decent whack on the back of his head before he manages to wrestle Phil into a prone position and hold him relatively still.

Phil struggles beneath him, but Clint is parked on top of him like a boulder.

They stay that way for a while, both tense and panting, until Clint feels the fight go out of him, Phil’s muscles finally yielding. Clint rolls off of him onto the floor, facing Phil as he catches his breath. Phil rolls onto his side.

“Ow,” Clint says, holding his torso gingerly.

“Sorry.” He actually does sound a bit sorry. Phil gets into a crouch and rises, putting out a hand. Clint takes it, holds it as he stands up.

“I’m not your fucking enemy, you know.”

“I know.”

For a moment, Phil looks so defeated that Clint almost prefers the anger. Phil drops his hand, and Clint follows him as they both move to sit on the sofa. Clint sinks back, props his feet up on the coffee table. Phil spreads his knees wide and stares into the fire.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Clint says. 

Phil gives a sad, half-smile. “I’m not.”

Clint frowns at him. “Nah.” Phil raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t buy it.”

“No?”

“No. If you wanted to be dead, you’d be dead.”

“That simple, huh?”

Clint nods. “Pretty much. Instead, you spend months tracking Fury down so you can, what? Yell at him a lot?”

Phil doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t nod either.

“Nah. You want something else.”

The pause is long enough that Clint looks over to Phil for his response, expecting him to be angry, annoyed--but Phil’s eyes are staring back at him so intently that Clint can’t turn away.

“What if I don’t know what I want?” Phil asks softly.

_ Shit _ . Clint consciously keeps himself from saying it out loud, but he’s pretty sure it’s showing on his face.  

“Listen,” he says instead. “Fury doesn’t know where we are. This is a safehouse Nat and I set up a long time ago in case things ever went sideways. Totally off the grid. So it’s just you and me.”

Phil gives the smallest of nods.

“So you have time to figure it out. Okay?”

Another nod.

“And I’ll help you. If you stop trying to kick my ass.”

The half-smile crosses Phil’s lips again, but it’s a little less sad this time. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Clint repeats. He drops his feet from the coffee table and hauls himself up with a groan, holding his side. He leaves Phil to stare into the fire and makes his way over to the kitchen.

He opens the freezer door, grabs an ice pack. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he breathes into the cold air.  _ What have I gotten myself into? _


End file.
